Endymion
by sharingank
Summary: Seven hours since they arrived in this world, and Fai doesn’t even know what it looks like. KuroFai. MAJOR CHAPTER 166 SPOILERS.


My first foray into the lovely, beautiful world of Tsubasa. Be afraid. 8D (And enjoy? Hopefully?)

Note: This is how I'd _like_ things to turn out in the upcoming chapters. Whether or not they actually do is entirely in the hands of CLAMP. Scary thought, indeed, what with Kurogane recklessly _cutting his arm off_ and all. (See, Fai? Now you _have_ to forgive yourself because he did that for you. alkfjds;f)

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**Endymion**

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Seven hours since they arrived in this world, and Fai doesn't even know what it looks like. If someone were to ask, he couldn't describe its distinctions, what makes it unique from any other world he's passed through, like a wraith. 

His perspective is narrowed to an airy, open room with white walls, white ceiling, white floor, white bed, white sheets…as though it were a chameleon reflecting Kurogane's white, white skin.

Fai's own skin is naturally pale, though against Kurogane's it appears shades darker.

It is this, rather than the imbalance created by a missing limb (once so whole, so hale), that profoundly disturbs him.

"He's lost a lot of blood," the healer had said, her simple, honest face grim. "Too much, perhaps." She met each of their eyes—Mokona, Syaoran, Sakura (awake finally, though drained), Fai. "I'll do what I can."

Her eyes had lingered the longest on Fai. No doubt because she saw something there to give her pause, something she had seen many times before and yet…not.

She worked on him an hour and fifty-seven minutes. Silent beyond mere taciturnity, Fai counted every second down in his head, barely conscious of Mokona's tiny body curled up in the hollow of his shoulder.

Counting kept his mind occupied, kept thoughts of their broken little family (broken little Yuui, living a life that isn't his) tucked away. Because at the center of it all, the hub, as it were (_father_) was Kurogane.

But now Fai is the adult. Fai is responsible for the children, for comforting them and being brave for them.

He should've spoken while he counted, should've acknowledged Sakura's tender fingers on his arm, should've noticed Syaoran's clenched fists and taut jaw—he had something to lose, too, for hadn't Kurogane paid attention to him? Hadn't Kurogane sat with him and talked to him and assured him he was _real_, he was _himself_, not a fraction of himself?

Yes, Syaoran had something to lose.

But Fai had _everything _to lose.

Sitting outside that white, white room, counting down the seconds (grains of sand in an hourglass), Fai closed up, closed off, delayed the inevitable. He couldn't say a word to them, these children, these innocents. He couldn't, wouldn't. He had to focus. Numbers are impartial. They won't look at him with eyes that see more than they should ("I'll do what I can," she'd said, but she said it to him, just him), won't squeeze his hands and tell him he's not guilty, tell him it's all right to forgive the monster (that creature reflected in the mirror).

He didn't want to hear those things.

So he counted, counted for an hour and fifty-seven minutes, until the healer came out and let them be with Kurogane, their father, their center, who lay on a sterile white bed in a sterile white room, his arm gone, his sword gone, his soul gone.

But alive.

Sakura and Syaoran stayed long enough to drink him in (he's here, he's alive, we're still a family, though missing one). Mokona nuzzled Fai's cheek, then hopped down to do the same to Kurogane's, before following them out.

They wouldn't go far, he knew, because now that they were together again, separation was intolerable.

Fai has remained here since they left, hours (years?) ago. Watching Kurogane sleep.

The whiteness repulses him. It makes his stomach churn. Why that damnable _white_? White like snow, like the place he came from. The white of an endless winter, spreading for miles and miles and miles.

It covers Kurogane now. Suffocates him.

"You should've left me."

Fai's voice is very small, swallowed among the white. He closes his icy fingers over Kurogane's hand, rubs the pad of his thumb across Kurogane's knuckles.

_Let go, let go, you'll make it worse. You brought the whiteness with you. _

He clings tighter.

"Kurogane."

Such a fierce name. A beautiful name. The name of a warrior.

"How will you fight without your arm, your sword?"

He gave them up, his arm and his sword (his soul). He cast them both aside, abandoned them where he will never find them, even if they tore apart the universe. They are gone forever, the price paid, willingly, for Fai's freedom.

Grief swells inside of him, grief and loathing and anger, so intense he could scream.

"I can't bear it…Kuro-chan, I can't."

It should be Fai in this bed with its white sheets, Fai's soul lost, torn apart, scattered on the wind. This is wrong. It's all wrong.

He's crying, the tears falling hot, scalding. He turns Kurogane's hand palm-up, leans forward, and buries his face against it. His body quakes, shudders.

"You're noisy."

His head snaps up.

Kurogane's deep crimson eyes regard him meaningfully. When they first met, Fai had been drawn to those eyes, the most expressive part of him.

"Kuro-chan…"

A sob rises in his throat; he swallows it.

"Nicknames again?"

Oh, it hurts. Kurogane sounds weak, bone-weary, like his spirit has shattered and yet he continues to press on despite the pain, the unimaginable loss.

Fai struggles to regulate his breathing, to beat the tears back. There's so much he needs to say, so much. All these unspoken words between them, like oceans, raging, vast. All these feelings. Fai starts to reach for him, lips parted, ready to give the words form, however Kurogane's eyes silence him.

"Shut up." His fingers, trembling slightly from the exertion of lifting his hand, come to rest on Fai's mouth. "Don't. I chose, and it's over. It's _over_. If you even think of blaming yourself for _my_ choice, I'll beat the shit out of you."

He will. Fai has no doubt about that.

Gently, he lowers Kurogane's fingers, though he doesn't release his hand.

"The sword…"

"I'll get a new one."

"Your arm—"

"Your eye."

Sudden fury takes the place of grief, that Kurogane can be so flippant about this, about all of it.

"You can't just go and buy another arm," Fai admonishes sharply. "It isn't replaceable, Kurogane!"

For a moment, the only sound in the white, white room is the curtains, ruffled by a soft breeze through the window.

"Neither are you."

Though it's so light he can barely feel it, Kurogane squeezes Fai's hand, eyes half-lidded, fluttering. Sleep will take him again, soon.

"Rather lose an arm than lose you, idiot," he murmurs thickly.

Fai doesn't bother trying to banish the tears anymore.

"Go to sleep, Kuro-tan," he says, smoothing those few pieces of errant bang away from his forehead (not so very white now). "I'll stay here with you."

"Pick you up….when you fall…"

Kurogane sleeps.

He remembered those words Fai said, in passing, so long ago. He had listened, and he remembered.

But he was Kurogane. Of course he remembered.

Fai puts his lips to Kurogane's ear, whispers, "Thank you." He kisses his temple. "Thank you."

Brave, foolish man. Dear, wonderful Kurogane, father, center. To lose him is to lose everything, yet he is here. And the only way, the _only _way, to keep him here (forever), is for Fai to forgive himself, and live.

A hefty sacrifice, to shed the whiteness, the guilt (like a cloak) he took solace in, but he will make it, for Kurogane's sake. For the sake of their family.

And for the first time since his brother died, Fai (little Yuui) is at peace.


End file.
